That Depends
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: Friendship is thicker than blood- or is it? Roger's secret is revealed, bringing everything they've ever claimed about their friendship into a new light... Vampire!Roger and Marker angst by the bucketload. Oneshot. Mark/Roger slash in here. Just a tad.


**A/N: I've decided recently that I want to set a trend. My friend Emma has agreed with me. Vampire!RENT. Yes, I used to be a huge Twilight fan- and yes, I've come to my senses and realized that the fanfiction for that series is pretty much the best part because the books are basically thesaurus rape. But disregarding that (and no offense to any Twilighters out there) I really like the idea of vampire!Roger, so expect to see a lot of these from me from now on. Enjoy! R&R my lovelies.**

Disclaimer: _Vampires aren't mine and RENT isn't mine but I daresay that this vampiric RENT fic is mine. :L_

**That Depends**

There have been signs over the years, but Mark has dutifully ignored all of them. He's been a best friend the way that he thinks every best friend should. The filmmaker hasn't questioned the little oddities- the nocturnal spells, the fascination with blood, the peculiar ability to hear a whisper from across the loft- and, most importantly, he's never tried to figure it out. There's an inkling of suspicion, of course, but why explore it?

Mark was a firm believer in leaving well enough alone. But now Roger's gone and let the cat out of the bag, and it's going to change everything.

He stumbles out of the guitarist's bruising grip, eyes wide, and instinctively licks at his stinging lower lip. He tastes blood and pales, but his gaze never leaves his roommate's desperate green eyes. Roger is paler than usual too, and he looks ready to throw up; Mark feels like Roger looks, but now isn't the time for sarcastic comments.

"Mark-" For a split second, the songwriter seems like he will reach out for him. The fear in Mark's eyes, however, makes him withdraw his hand. "Mark, please. Let me- just- I can explain. I can, I promise-"

The filmmaker cuts him off with a strangled, incredulous noise. "Explain what? Which thing are you explaining, Roger, the- the kiss or…" Trailing off, he zeroes in on his friends lips, stained crimson. "What the _fuck_?"

In the end, he doesn't sound half as angry or accusatory as he expects to. He just sounds confused. Mark wants to understand Roger more than anything. It's been a lifelong goal of his, ever since he was twenty and lost in the city and needed a place to stay. Since then, an air of mystery has always surrounded his roommate. He was afraid of what he'd find when the curtain was lifted.

"I- both?" Swallowing, Roger steps back, giving him room to breathe. It's hard not to appreciate the gesture when he's beginning to think that he's trapped in a coma or some lengthy nightmare. He needs it and he's grateful that Roger seems to understand that, but it doesn't change the situation they're in. "Mark. You're my best friend."

"And I thought you were mine," he shoots back. His lower lip is tingling where Roger bit it, going numb and he's liable to panic if he doesn't get some sort of explanation soon.

"I am! I- Mark. I love you, man." Helpless, Roger's hand shoots out and grasps at his. The filmmaker flinches but, seeing the pained look on his friend's face, doesn't jerk away. Yet. Roger got the benefit of the doubt- he'd earned it. "I really do. I wouldn't ever hurt you- believe me. I can't stand the thought."

"Then why am I bleeding?" Mark demanded, voice slightly higher than it should have been. Oh. There's the anger. His thoughts were spinning through his head, tangling together in a confusing jumble. The many ideas about Roger's true motivations, true nature, were pushed into the furthest corners by force and locked away. If Mark could do anything, it was wait to pass judgment.

"You- oh God, I'm sorry. I couldn't- couldn't control it…" Terrible guilt flashed across Roger's stubbly features and before Mark could examine it thoroughly he had buried his face in his hands, shoulders hunched and tense. Was he- was Roger _crying_? Or was he simply overcome with the guilt he'd just seen, or some unknown other emotion that Mark, at the moment, couldn't comprehend? "I'm sorry, I'm so SORRY…"

Ignoring the fact that his hands were trembling, Mark raised one to his lips and wiped it across them, the pale skin coming away smeared with his own smaller blood. He held it towards Roger, unsure of whether he was offering it or simply showing him what he'd done. "Roger." His voice was nothing but a gravelly whisper. "Look at me."

Roger peeked from behind his hands, eyes watery, and stiffened as he realized what Mark was doing. "Mark, don't," he warned, stumbling back a few steps. "Don't. It's not safe."

"Show me your teeth." Mark didn't mean to sound harsh, but it was time he cast aside his "don't-ask-don't-tell" policy. Obviously it wasn't going to serve him anymore. He disregarded Roger's warning and stepped forward- for each step he took, Roger took one backwards until finally his back hit the wall. "Show me."

"Mark, please promise not to flip." Now it was Roger who was terrified, his entire body shaking. He seemed to shrink in on himself as Mark approached. "Promise me first."

"Just show me. Damn it, Roger, I think I deserve to know!" His lip was definitely going numb now.

"_Promise_." The plea was so urgent that Mark had to nod grudgingly, despite his better judgment.

"Fine," he muttered, and Roger visibly relaxed. He curled his lip back to expose his teeth and in the dim light of the loft at evening Mark saw the glint of too-sharp canines, pointed and white. "Holy _shit!_" Roger immediately closed his lips but the damage was already done. The filmmaker, feeling like he was trapped in a bad horror film, took an involuntary step back despite Roger's pained expression.

"It's not what it looks l- well it is… But Mark, you gotta believe me-"

"You're a- a-" The word stuck in his throat, choking him and making his eyes water. A spike of adrenaline coursed through his veins and he started to sweat, ready to pelt away at any second. At the same time, Roger was… well, Roger. And he still wanted to know why the hell he had kissed him in the first place.

"Vampire." There was a bitter edge to Roger's voice as he spat it out, tearing his eyes away and shoving his hands into his pockets. He was brooding and it was easy to spot. "Yeah. I know."

"How… How is that- that's not… What?" Mark squeaked, unable to stop staring at his best friend as though he'd never seen him before. It didn't seem as though Roger was very keen on answering, so after a long moment he swallowed and changed his tactic. "Why… Let's just forget this for a minute, then." Taking a deep breath, he plastered on a nervous smile and asked, "Why did you even- why- so how about that kiss?"

Even to him, his attempt at being casual was a dismal failure. He winced, but waited for Roger to reply. Slowly, the guitarist glanced back at him, uncertain.

"… Mark…" Every word seemed to be a struggle for the songwriter, his hand running through his shaggy blonde hair anxiously as he talked. A flush was rising on his cheeks, color returning, and Mark began to realize- heart fluttering- that this might be the talk he'd always imagined happening, wished for- minus the supernatural creature part. "Look. I… Have been thinking."

He made a motion to encourage Roger to continue and the guitarist plowed on obediently, even though it seemed to be making him slightly nauseous.

"And- I thought about it a lot, you know? A _lot_," he emphasized, checking that Mark had understood. The filmmaker found himself smiling faintly at that and nodded. "And I just… I can't stop thinking about it. You. I wrote you about ten songs and doodled your name all over my notebook and- I constantly imagine just- just leaning in and kissing you. Like I just did."

"I take it that the whole vampire thing wasn't part of your plan." Hello, sarcasm. Roger shook his head, grimacing.

"I'm sorry. I would have told you eventually, if you- kissed me back…" He looked away again, this time in embarrassment. That was unmistakably cute and Mark didn't even feel bad for thinking it. He wasn't shy- he knew he loved Roger, knew he would have kissed him back had he not been pricked by an unexpectedly sharp tooth. But maybe this changed things. Maybe.

"So…" The anger, the fear, was all wearing off now and leaving just a huge umbrella of awkwardness over the two of them with underlying tones of confusion. "So you're- a vampire. Vampire." Mark repeated it and made a face at the word. "Vampire?"

"Yes, Mark, vampire. You don't have to keep saying it." Testy now, Roger blew a lock of hair out of his eyes and glared at him. "I think I know."

"How did I live with you all this time and not know that?" Logically, Mark knew that it was his own fault- he'd had all of those inklings and he hadn't pursued any of them. But now his curiosity had been unleashed and God, his lip was tingling again, hot and he licked at it absently. It was almost… pleasant.

"Because I'm stealthy like that." Snickering, Roger tipped his head back and shook his head. "No, I'm not. You're oblivious. But I did try to keep it a secret… I thought you'd run away."

Unaware that he was inching closer to Roger now, intrigued, Mark furrowed his eyebrows. "I was going to but I think I'll stay for the explanation now… Probably not safe to be out at this hour." He was making excuses. The alarm bells in the back of his mind were ringing insistently, telling him- screaming- that he needed to get out of there now and never come back, or if he did bring a chain of garlic to hang around his neck. But he- he _loved_ Roger. Shit. He couldn't just walk out on that.

As he was internally squabbling with himself, Mark was rewarded for his procrastination with Roger's grin. "No- but is it any safer in here with me?"

"I _have _been living here with you for… a pretty long time…" His voice was slowly fading into background noise, eyes focused on the other man's lips now as he imagined them back on his. Or- his neck. And suddenly it wasn't entrancing anymore, but frightening. His heartbeat sped again and Roger seemed to sense it, reaching out to grasp his wrist again.

"No- please, you promised." He seemed to really care about saving their friendship and Mark wanted to put this all behind them, forget it altogether. But how was he supposed to do that? "You promised not to flip out…"

"I don't want to. Make me forget. Can you do that?" The flare of hope in his chest died abruptly at Roger's regretful sigh.

"No, and I wasn't lying about the HIV either. A vampire with AIDS. I'm a joke." Another bitter laugh. Mark was about sick of hearing it. He wished that he could maintain his own safety and Roger's self-esteem at the same time, but the fact remained that the person that he thought was his best friend was apparently a bloodsucking movie monster who wanted to eat him, or so he assumed.

"Hey. You're not- You're-" Unsure of what exactly to say to comfort him, he settled for squeezing his hand. It was warm and it felt like Roger, and it was hard to believe that it belonged to a _vampire_ of all things. Mark was still obligated to doubt that this was real at all, except for the odd sensation in his bleeding lower lip. "You're Roger."

"Yeah. I am. At least I didn't lie about that, eh?" Roger's eyes flickered down to Mark's lip so quickly that he wasn't sure it had happened at all. "I should tell you…" He seemed to brace himself to say the words. "I should tell you that that's a… special kind of wound…"

"Could have guessed," Mark shrugged, crookedly smiling. He wanted to be relaxed and until he actually was he was determined to at least act like it. "So what should I expect?"

Roger stood very still for a moment, seeming to be making some epic decision that Mark desperately wanted to know about, and then his eyes snapped back to Mark's seriously. "To be honest, I don't really know. I've been living off of blood transfusions since… well, that doesn't matter. So I don't know what's going to happen to you."

The alarm bells were getting louder and it was hard not to take notice. The loft around them darkened, cluttered furniture and knickknacks turning into eerie shadows that only served to make Mark twitch, the urge to run coming back to him at last. Roger's hold over him, intentional or not, was spotty and half of it was probably concocted by his own mind. Nevertheless, it was about to make him start hyperventilating.

For the moment he contained himself, shooting Roger a wary look and dropping his hand. "What?"

"I don't know what's going to happen to you," Roger repeated, sighing and ducking his head. "I know it sounds stupid. Maybe I'm just stupid."

Mark has to fight the strong urge to comfort his friend again and tell him that he isn't stupid, but the fact was that Roger was just a little bit stupid right this moment. He chooses instead (rather wisely) to stay silent. Roger looks back up at him, perhaps searching for the comfort he expected to receive, and again winces at Mark's expression. It's becoming a theme.

"Okay. Look, Mark, I'm glad that you didn't freak out but… If you want me to leave… I understand." He visibly struggled with the idea, glancing longingly back down the hall to his room where all of his possessions resided and then back to Mark with an unreadable look. "I'll leave you alone. You won't have to deal with me."

There is a long pause as Mark digests this. His hands itch for his camera, the familiar weight and coolness of the metal, the security it had always brought. "You show up on film…" he murmured, half of a joke, and Roger's lips twitched upwards.

"Yeah, I know. It's weird. I don't really know the rules of the whole… fangs thing."

"Vampire," Mark said to himself again. It was starting to seem less scary, less surreal, and more like a health issue. Or maybe he just wanted it to be that way- anything not to be frightened of Roger, who he was fairly certain that he had fallen for years ago. "Does that mean you can change me into one?"

Again, Roger's eyes snapped to his lip. "I'm not entirely sure I didn't do that already…" The guilt in his eyes was unmistakable. Mark had seen it too many times before. "I'm so sorry."

"If I stop saying the v-word, will you stop apologizing?" Mark raised an eyebrow, reaching up to brush a lock of his reddish blonde hair back from his forehead and realizing how much he had been sweating. He was still scared, still woozy both from the supernatural tingling in his lip and the shock, but if he couldn't trust _Roger_ then he couldn't trust anyone.

The rocker looked up at him, slowly grinning in relief and some kind of grateful awe that made Mark squirm pleasantly. "Really?" He sounded as if it were too good to be true, and Mark had to be honest- it probably was. He couldn't guarantee he wasn't going to bolt the second he had a clear path to the door. "Oh, fuck- dude. Thanks. I-" At a loss, Roger enveloped him in a tight hug, burying his face in Mark's neck and swallowing down tears.

The filmmaker stiffened. Okay. Okay. He could deal with this. Roger wasn't going to bite him. He'd hugged him before and come out unscathed… _Just act natural._

But how was he supposed to do that when Roger's chapped lips pressed to the warm flesh of his neck were giving him all sorts of wishy-washy, nervous anticipatory _feelings?_ He scoffed at himself. Obviously Mark Cohen had already transformed- into a teenaged girl.

After a moment Roger pulled away, still blissfully ignorant of his friend's discomfort, smiling so widely he looked like his face was about to crack in half. Mark's gut twisted as he caught the glint off of one of those teeth- God damn it, what was this _compulsion_ he had? Why the fuck would he _want_ Roger to bite him? But everything is fuzzy, blurring at the edges, and his skin is burning as he murmurs, mouth moving of its own volition, "Roger?"

The smile drops right off of Roger's face. There's something wrong, some strange quality to Mark's voice and he's not sure he likes it. "Mark?"

"Can you- can you d-do me a favor?"

Dreamy. That's the word. He barely looks awake anymore, wobbling, and if Roger wasn't holding him up he's not sure he would still be standing.

"… Yeah, sure, buddy." Nervously, Roger begins to lead him towards the couch but with surprising strength Mark tugs him back, licking at his wounded lip which has by now become ruby-red and strangely alluring. "What-"

"Bite me?" Blue eyes wide and serious, Mark can't find it in himself to be afraid anymore. Maybe it's that tingling in his blood or maybe it's just that it's _Roger_ but now… now…

"Mark, no-" He looks pained, the weight of his mistake crashing down on him. Mark isn't taking no for an answer. All of a sudden he's got his arms full of filmmaker, tackling him back into the wall, pressing up suffocatingly close and crashing their lips together. He's hot, he's _desperate_, and there's more than just bloodlust tenting Roger's pants as he gasps into the kiss.

"_Mark_," he groans. God, what has he done? His hands are travelling down Mark's body, cupping his ass, squeezing it as he pulls him impossibly closer and Mark is tugging at his hair, trying to pull his mouth back to his neck.

"PLEASE," he whimpers, rutting against Roger's leg, and it's all it takes for the rocker to come undone. Without another word he's pressing his lips to the pale column of flesh, fangs bared, sinking down and this is it…

**MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR**

An eerie silence has descended on the loft as the sun finally sets on the bizarre day and Mark blinks his eyes open, head pounding. He sits up and rubs his arms to get the feeling back in them, looking around blearily. Mind foggy, he can't seem to remember anything for a moment and he has a feeling he's supposed to…

Roger is curled up at his side, chest rising and falling slightly with his breaths, looking utterly at peace. There's a trickle of red down his chin-

FUCK.

Mark slaps a hand to his neck, panic accelerating his breath, and sure enough it comes away sticky. He stares at the crimson stain for a long moment, uncomprehending. _This can't be happening…_ Oh, but it can. Roger had bitten him. Roger. Roger the vampire. Roger his best friend, Roger the guy he'd been in love with for long, painful years, and only now had shown _any_ interest whatsoever-

Was he just looking for a quick meal?

Sick to his stomach, Mark stumbled to his feet and nearly pitched forward, balance completely off. His started gasp woke the songwriter, who unfurled himself and yawned, blinking up at him with a shy smile and soft green eyes. "Marky?" he murmured.

"Get away from me," Mark stammered, backing up, holding a trembling hand up and staring at it. He looked the same- now if only that was enough to convince him that he _was_ the same. "Get the fuck away from me."

Immediately cringing, Roger widened his eyes pleadingly as he scrambled into a standing position, approaching him with hands extended. "Mark, come on Mark, please-"

"NO. Get AWAY!" His voice cracked, throat raw and frightened. He realized that although it was dark, he could see everything perfectly- on a normal day that might have been kind of cool, but now it was just another symptom. "Get OUT, Roger!"

"I thought we were best friends," Roger whispered, all the fight draining out of him as Mark yanked his arm away. He looked positively heartbroken, staring into those big blue eyes hopelessly. The worst part was that even now, even with this betrayal, it still _hurt_ to know that he was the one who put that look on Roger's face.

"We were. Now leave." He pointed a shaky finger to the door. Roger nodded mutely, beginning to turn- halfway around he swung back, lunging in and grabbing Mark's face. Before the filmmaker could even react he was being kissed bruisingly, Roger's calloused fingers clutching at his jaw, and before he could decide _how _he wanted to react the guitarist had turned and strode for the door.

"I'm sorry, Mark…"

And he was gone. Mark sank back to the floor, shell-shocked, the world seeming to shatter into colorful fragments around him.

There went his best friend. The love of his life. The mystery man he would never get over.

_Friendship is thicker than blood-_

Well. Not this time.


End file.
